come here, little blue, for i am both a whole and a fragment of what you believe me to be. the universe prepared me to fly through humans like novels and make you sing like you'll never speak again. but acting without second thought has become a ruthless habit and i have difficulty finding which part of me i unearthed this carelessness from. it is not just writing about the sound of shattering glass anymore, for i am cracking doors. i've become so fond of the fact that being brave and having no fear are far from the same thing. on one hand i'm living in spite of being full of fright; the other means i'm looking death in it's odious, retched face and cackling wildly. through my eyes, little blue, active volcanoes appear like meadows. i'm threatening to lay flat on highways. the place that fear used to take shelter inside of me has broken windows in it's house, cracks in the dry wall, sleeps without locking the door. all the fire i've danced and toyed with has made my fingerprints unreadable. the mass of my heavy bones are without the stitching of connective tissue. my hard drive is wiped and irreparable. words of bliss and peace aren't rolling off the tip of my tongue anymore, they are hiding in my throat, they are swept under my rug, they get covered with leaves in the Fall. they are written in a language so dead the earth no longer recognizes it. for my lips to curl around such softness now would be unimaginable. cursing and loud noises and impolite people and negative degree weather; they don't bother me anymore. i am here, as both a whole and as a part.
